


5 Times Wonpil Kissed Someone + 1 Time Someone Kissed Him Back

by forochel



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Canon Universe, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:20:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26203339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forochel/pseuds/forochel
Summary: or: the Wonpil Kiss Elf ficor: "yh steadily astral projecting in the background as wp kiss monsters everyone else" (bysine, 2020)--When he's facing Wonpil again, his mouth is pulled to the side in a half-smile, like he's holding a secret in the corner of his lips. "Nah, I don't think you need to worry so much. Jae likes it. I mean,I— " he comes to an abrupt stop. Hesitates.Wonpil waits.Younghyun probaby doesn't even realise he's shaken his head. It's cute, like a puppy trying to shake water out of its fur."—I don't think you have to worry about it too much, Pilie."
Relationships: Kang Younghyun | Young K/Kim Wonpil
Comments: 21
Kudos: 102





	5 Times Wonpil Kissed Someone + 1 Time Someone Kissed Him Back

* * *

**1\. Jinyoungie**

"Jinyoungie," Wonpil carols, pushing his way through the heavy door. "I brought snacks!"

He hefts the plastic bag of contraband material that he'd picked up on his way to the company from campus.

The dance practice room dissolves abruptly into chaos — not that wasn't already mildly chaotic before.

Whatever they'd been doing when Wonpil had peeked in, it hadn't been dance practice.

"WONPILIE!!!!!!!!!!" Mark-hyung howls, startling Youngjae-sshi, whom Wonpil doesn't know very well. He leaps off the back of the sofa (why he was crouched up along the back of it, Wonpil doesn't know and doesn't want to know) and bounds, beaming, up to him.

"Hi, hyung." Mark-hyung makes him a little too shy to be completely comfortable around, but it's nice that he's always so happy to see Wonpil. "Do you want jelly?"

"You're my favourite." Mark takes the pack of jellies that Wonpil holds out to him and gives him a brief side-hug. Wonpil forgets, sometimes, how he doesn't have to ask for cuddles around _other_ people.

"Ah, Wonpilie!" Jaebeom-hyung exclaims, coming up on his other side. Jaebeom. It's annoying, having to call him hyung.

And oh, Wonpil has _miscalculated_ , because he bought only one thing of strawberry milk but Jaebeom-hyung also likes strawberry milk and he's going to have to give it up and —

Jinyoung reaches into the bag, past Jaebeom, and briskly plucks out the bottle of sikhye instead, putting it into Jaebeom's hands.

"Ah —" Jaebeom blinks. "What?"

"You like sikhye, don't you, hyung?" Jinyoung asks. Wonpil wishes he weren't here for this. Except it's actually kind of fascinating to watch under his lashes as Jaebeom's face crumples in confusion, before it smoothens out.

"R-right, yeah. Uh, thanks for this, Wonpil-ah." Jaebeom-hyung smiles at him and jiggles the bottle nervously, before going away to the sofa under the window.

Wonpil exchanges a look with Jinyoung. Jinyoung draws him to the cluster of bodies tussling on the floor and they sit down, cross-legged.

"What are you guys .... fighting about?"

"Yugyeom has a cru~ush," Bambam announces, even though Yugyeom is leveraging his greater weight to try and strangle him silent. Next to them, Youngjae-sshi is not trying very hard to intervene. "At school!"

Oh, that's so _cute_.

"Oooooooooh." Wonpil coos, delighted by the way Yugyeom goes even redder and whines behind his hands. "Aigoo, so cute, your maknae is so cute? Why?" Wonpil clings onto Jinyoung's arm with one hand and gestures wildly with the other.

"I'm not cute _,_ " Yugyeom protests.

"Sorry," Wonpil teases, "I can't hear you clearly."

He does not miss the way Jaebeom's eyes linger on where he's pressed close together with Jinyoung, nor the tightness of his mouth.

Yugyeom emerges from behind his hands, scowling. "You're supposed to be nicer than Jinyoungie-hyung." His eyes dart to Jinyoung, who's preoccupied with laughing at Bambam. Who is, in turn, vacillating between pretending to be too cool to be interested in his best friend's crush and teasing Yugyeom. They're all so cute. Almost as cute as Dowoonie.

"I remember," Wonpil declares dramatically, "when I was that age."

Jinyoung turns to him, eyes crinkling and lips curling mischievously.

At some point in the riotous banter, he hears Youngjae-sshi ask in what he probably thinks is a whisper, "Are they always ... like that?"

It's Mark who replies. "Just wait 'til Jackson comes back from the bathroom."

At this point, Jackson slams the door open and screams in joy when he spots Wonpil.

Wonpil and Jinyoung simultaneously brace themselves.

Sometimes Wonpil wonders if Jackson forgets that he's seventy kilograms of sheer muscle and enthusiasm, and that Wonpil is a mere keyboard player whose strength is mainly in his fingers and lungs. He wonders this especially acutely when Jackson's smothering him with affection, curling onto and around him like he doesn't have any joints.

"Sseunie—" he wheezes and pokes indiscriminately "— can't — breathe."

He's saved when Mark-hyung and Jaebeom-hyung haul Jackson off him.

"Day6 aren't ready to say _nowa nowa nowa_ to Wonpil, Sseun-ah," Jaebeom-hyung says. He tries so hard to be funny sometimes. Wonpil has _no_ idea what Jinyoungie sees in him.

The good thing is that he sees Youngjae-sshi roll his eyes at the same time. Riding high on camaraderie and mischief, he decides to strike up a conversation. It turns out that Youngjae-sshi is a whole year younger than _Dowoonie_ , which is honestly a shock.

Opportunity strikes when Jinyoung asks Bambam for a kiss on the cheek and Bambam whines loudly about being too old for it now, _hyung_.

"Oh" — Wonpil turns to Jinyoung, seizing his chance — "I'll give you a kiss, you big baby."

Out of the corner of his eye, Wonpil is very satisfied to see the amusement on Jaebeom's face slough off.

"You're not as cute as Bambam," Jinyoung tells Wonpil, and sends Bambam a pout.

Wonpil draws himself up while Jackson emits another little scream. He looks like that famous European painting, with his hands pressing into his cheeks. Wonpil thinks vaguely about getting Jackson to pose for a photo like that.

"I am _different_ cute," Wonpil says. "And beggars can't be choosers, Jinyoungie."

Ignoring the murder rays being directed at the back of his head, Wonpil darts in to press his lips against Jinyoung's cheek. Honestly, with all the sweating Jinyoungie has been doing, it's not great. But he did it for The Sacrifice.

"Bleh," he pronounces for the greater benefit of the room at large. "Okay. Snacks delivered. I'm going to go practise now."

He makes his escape — and just in time too, because that is totally Sungjin-hyung who's opening the door, looking faintly murderous.

**2\. Jae**

The first time he kisses Jae-hyung on the cheek, it's purely on instinct.

And then it's just really funny to say "What?" and run away whilst Jae-hyung gapes and flaps in frustration behind him.

Over time, it becomes a habit, a fun little in-joke.

"Wonpilie," Sungjin-hyung says one day, when Jae has just bellowed Wonpil out of his shared room. "Don't you think you're too old for this by now?"

The thing is, Wonpil was just passing by and glanced in to see how Jae's preparations for their move were going. It's not _his_ fault that what he saw was Jae sitting on his bed and staring sadly at the empty clothes rack, a half-rolled pair of socks in his hand. He was just trying to help! Jae always ends up laughing anyway, whenever Wonpil annoys him.

"No," Wonpil sniffs, and goes back to wrapping his cologne bottles in socks.

So _then_ it becomes a way to help Jae-hyung get out of his head.

A few weeks after they've moved into their wondrously big new apartment, Wonpil is tiptoeing into their new living room late one night to grab a notebook that he forgot when he hears his name.

On the far side of the living room, a dim glow spills out from under the sliding door that separates off the balcony where the laundry machine is. Through the frosted glass, he can see two figures sitting on the floor: a thin one and a bulkier one. So the hyungs are hanging out in the laundry room late at night, probably doing horribly boring things like folding their socks together or something. Okay. Wonpil's seen weirder.

"There's this concept," he hears Jae tells Sungjin. "Called the ... the rest medicine?"

"Eh?"

"Like healing time."

Wonpil thinks it's very funny that Jae has to resort to Konglish to explain his Korean translation of an English phrase. But he's eavesdropping, so he presses his lips hard together.

"Ahhhhh. What is it in English?"

Jae snorts — he clearly saw the same joke as Wonpil. " _The Rest Cure_."

" _Rest cure_... like medicine?"

"Yes, exactly!" Jae sounds pleased. "Dude, you get it."

"Ah, well..." Sungjin sounds bashful. Wonpil can see him ducking his head and rubbing the back of his head already. "It's just like connecting dots, you know. Words that are familiar."

Wonpil wishes with sudden violence that he were as fast at picking up English as Sungjin-hyung.

"Just, he says," Jae snorts again. "Anyway! What was I talking about? Oh right, so the rest cure. That's a thing. Wonpilie is like ... the opposite of that. [An Unrest Cure](http://www.eastoftheweb.com/short-stories/UBooks/UnrCur.shtml)."

Oi. Wonpil feels mildly insulted.

"So he's like a medicine for you anyway."

Wonpil ... is so confused.

"I guess," Jae sounds reluctant. They're quiet for a while. Probably folding more socks. "But, like, you know. Side effects. I think I should be contraindicated."

Sungjin laughs that high, delighted thing. It's _super_ insulting.

Wonpil swallows a shriek and almost falls over with fright when someone taps him on the shoulder and whispers, "What are you doing, Pirimiri?"

"Yah!" He turns around to glare at Younghyun. "Hyung! Don't scare me like that!"

"You're the one just creeping around in the dark," Younghyun points out. He's in his pyjamas, his hair is shower-damp, and his glasses are slipping down his nose. Wonpil didn't even notice someone was in the bathroom.

"I didn't want to wake anyone up." Wonpil reconsiders, since Younghyun can also see that Sungjin-hyung is still up. "Well, and then I heard the hyungs talking about me."

"Ah ..." Younghyun takes Wonpil by the wrist, then, and draws him into the kitchen. "And?"

"And, well —" Wonpil can't help but let what he overheard spill out, because it's not like he doesn't _try_ , it's not like he doesn't doubt himself sometimes, and maybe someone else's opinion might help.

Younghyun lets go to open the fridge whilst Wonpil worries at him. It's a good thing that Younghyun's not looking at him, because Wonpil looks at his freed wrist for a beat longer than he should, wondering at how _small_ the circle of Younghyun's fingers made him feel.

"....and anyway," Wonpil's mouth continues despite the freewheeling whirl of his thoughts, "that's why I ... I'm worried. I guess."

Emerging from the fridge with a bottle of cold barley tea, Younghyun hums thoughtfully.

When he's facing Wonpil again, his mouth is pulled to the side in a half-smile, like he's holding a secret in the corner of his lips. "Nah, I don't think you need to worry so much. Jae likes it. I mean, _I_ wou— " Abruptly, he stops. Hesitates.

Wonpil waits.

Younghyun probaby doesn't even realise he's shaken his head. It's cute, like a puppy trying to shake water out of its fur.

"—I don't think you have to worry about it too much, Pilie."

The puppy thing is less cute when Wonpil realises Younghyun changed what he was about to say.

But he can't just go around accusing people of lying to him based on a gut feeling, so Wonpil pouts and acquiesces to be herded back to his bedroom.

**3\. Sungjin**

The winter night is cold outside, but in their living room it's warm. The _ondol_ is going, and they've piled together on the sofa to watch something Jae-hyung called a Hallmark movie — a brief respite from the mad rush of December.

It's comfortable, squished between Dowoon and Younghyun, though Wonpil would have preferred the sofa arm. With a mug of tea between his knees, he feels rather like the movie does — warm and sweetly sleepy.

He must have dozed off a little, because the next time he blinks the movie has moved past the weepy stage ("You missed all the crying, hyung," Dowoon tells him). Now the main couple is kissing under a plant that's been taped to a doorway.

Considering the last Wonpil knew, those characters were just sneaking glimpses at each other on the train, this is all very strange and unexpected. Clearly the ajumma making a face at them in the window of the building opposite the doorway thinks so too. Wonpil bursts out laughing and has to bury his face in his knees, shaking.

"Are you okay?" Younghyun is asking, an amused note of concern in his voice.

Speechless — unable to form speech — Wonpil nods.

"What is that?" Dowoon, on the other hand, ignores Wonpil's miniature breakdown.

Jae-hyung answers. "What?"

"The green thing. The plant."

" _Oh_." Jae-hyung wheezes out a laugh. "It's, uh, what's the word for it in Korean?"

Curious, Wonpil emerges from his laugh prison to see Younghyun shrug.

" _Mistletoe_ ," Jae-hyung says. "It's uh, it's a Christmas ...tradition? Game. People put it on things, doorways usually, and if you meet someone underneath you have to kiss."

All of a sudden, Wonpil is overcome by a wave of mischief. It surges up from his very toes and buzzes all the way through his fingertips.

"Oh no, I don't like the look on Wonpilie's face." Jae-hyung squints at him. "Wonpil-ah, you are NOT going to —"

"What?" Wonpil widens his eyes and pretends to be affronted, all injured innocence. "I wasn't doing anything! I don't know what you're talking about!"

But Jae-hyung really does, because he just eyes the paper bag in Wonpil's hand with resignation when Wonpil comes home from his shopping expedition a few days later, and stands by and tuts while Wonpil tries to decide where to affix the little spiky sprig of white-berried leaves.

"No one is going to kiss anyone else, Pilie," he says.

Wonpil frowns. "But you said it's an American tradition! Oh, wait! Maybe I'll put it in the corridor outside our band practice room!"

Over the next few days, Wonpil bestows cheek kisses on: Jisang-hyung, a bashfully pleased drum tech hyung, Jackson (who screams with delight), Nickhun-hyung (who holds still and then kisses him back on the top of the head), and a long-suffering Jihyo.

Sungjin intervenes eventually, when it becomes clear that people are taking the long way around to avoid their corridor.

"Fine," Wonpil pouts and folds his arms.

He doesn't mind, anyway; he didn't want to think about having to kiss a trainee he didn't really know on the cheek. Or, god forbid, PD-nim.

They get busy with rehearsals, anyway.

And then it's opening night.

And _then_ the day after opening night arrives bright and sunny and cold.

Wonpil wakes up slowly, trying to remember where he is and who he is and why there's a nagging feeling that he's forgotten something. By the time he's brushed his teeth and had breakfast in the kitchen, the imp of mischief is fairly bouncing about in his brain again.

Most fortuitiously, Sungjin-hyung has installed himself on the sofa with a book. His buzzed head is just about visible.

Wonpil grins to himself, and goes to fetch the mistletoe.

Younghyun, who's sat cross-legged on the loveseat across from Sungjin, spots Wonpil's approach. His eyes widen. His mouth drops open. Wonpil holds a finger to his lips. Younghyun rolls his eyes, but obligingly looks back down at his laptop, balanced in his lap.

"Hyuuu~ung," Wonpil sings gleefully. "I got you!"

"Wha—?" Sungjin looks up, brows already furrowing. "Yah!!! You—!"

Too late, Wonpil leans down to buss him on the top of his head. He feels fond and a little nostalgic.

Sungjin, for his part, freezes.

It happens in a matter of seconds, anyway, and Wonpil's bouncing back up to share conspiratorial grins across the living room with Younghyunie-hyung. His bounce is a little undercut by the fact that hyung is very much not smiling.

Wonpil can feel his own face fall, but has no time to process it when Sungjin unfreezes and yells, "Yah! Brat!"

It's like Sungjin unfroze time with his bellow, because _then_ the lingering prickle on Wonpil's lips registers. "Oh." Wonpil presses his fingers to them.

Younghyun's mouth finally tips out of the flat line it was in. "Too itchy?"

"Mmm." Wonpil nods hard, relieved that Younghyun isn't looking at him so strangely anymore. "Not good. Don't recommend it."

"I wasn't planning to." Younghyun's voice is rich with amusement. "But thanks."

"Hello? Excuse me?" Sungjin is demanding. "What the fuck do you think you were doing?"

"Mistletoe!" Wonpil waves the plastic sprig in his face. "Like Jaehyungie-hyung said."

They're the magic words — everyone knows Sungjin doesn't really yell at Jae the way he does the rest of them, unless he's been woken up.

"Oh, for fuck's sake" — Sungjin rolls his eyes so hard his head swivels too — "if you want to make him feel at home go kiss him instead. "

Mission accomplished, Wonpil just shrugs at him, waves the fake mistletoe some more in farewell to him and Younghyun, and goes to see if he can catch Dowoonie in the kitchen.

He does, but apparently Dowoon saw his reflection in the window over the sink, and so dodges neatly, snatching the mistletoe out of his hands.

"Hey!" Wonpil shouts. "Unfair height advantage!" and gives chase.

It's a little silly how they're going round and around the kitchen, and they're definitely doing it more because it's funny than because Wonpil wants the misletoe back, but —

"It's unfair." He faintly hears Sungjin complain from the living room. "Wonpilie leaves you alone."

Wonpil stills by the door for a moment, feeling a little like the bottom of his stomach's fallen out. He didn't think —

"Ha!" Dowoon bellows, taking advantage of his moment of distraction and charging past him out into the corridor.

"Hey, you cheater!" Wonpil cries, glad of the distraction and runs after him.

"Are we," Sungjin groans loudly, "a band or a kindergarten."

Younghyun's reply is lost when Dowoon shrieks as Wonpil crashes through his door and jumps on him.

**4\. Dowoonie**

"I destroyed your _mister-toe_ ," Dowoon announces proudly the evening after Christmas Day.

Wonpil blinks at him. The announcement was apropos of nothing; they weren't even watching anything remotely romantic.

"Okay?" Wonpil pauses the drama. "Well, did you at least recycle it?"

Dowoon stares at him, befuddled.

Sensing an _opportunity_ , Wonpil swoops in and plants a kiss on his cheek.

"Aghhhhhhhhh!" Dowoon scrubs immediately at his face. "Hyung!!!"

Wonpil bursts into laughter at the look of consternation on his face.

"What ... is happening?"

It's Younghyun, head poking through the door, looking like he's halfway to concerned but mostly curious. Ready to laugh at any minute.

Wonpil's ready to dramatise the last ten minutes, possibly reenact the office drama scene he hit pause on and actually make Younghyun laugh, but then Dowoon turns on the charm immediately, the turncoat.

"Hyuuuuuung," he whines at full mumble, "Wonpilie hyung kissed me! He won't leave me alone!"

There's a look on Younghyun's face like he doesn't know what to do.

"I just want to be loved," Wonpil retorts, keeping half an eye on Younghyun. "Why won't you let me show you my affection, Dowoonie?"

"Show it differently!" Dowoon shoves him, a little too hard; he doesn't know his own strength, sometimes.

"Yah!" Wonpil straightens up from where he caught himself just in time from tumbling over the edge of the bed. "Dowoon-ah! Watch it!"

"Ah, come on, Wonpilie." Younghyun gestures him out of Dowoon's bed. "Don't you think it's time to stop invading people's beds?"

"I don't _invade_ people's beds," Wonpil objects playfully.

He's not sure what he said wrong, because there's a split-second of Younghyun's face doing something weird. Then Younghyun makes a sound midway between a scoff and a laugh. "I know."

Stopping in his tracks, Wonpil feels his mood fall. Something about that note in Younghyun's voice doesn't sit quite right. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Next to him, Dowoon helplessly pleads, "Don't fight..."

Younghyun glances at Dowoon and back.

To Wonpil's surprise, he looks away first. Shakes his head. "Never mind."

Wonpil finds he doesn't want to let this go. "No, you're being mean, hyung. What do you want?"

" _Hyung_ ," Dowoon entreats. It's not clear which hyung he means.

"Nothing, nothing." Younghyun shakes his head again.

"No." Wonpil swings his legs over the side of the bed to face the door. "You sounded —" it hits him all of a sudden, why he's feeling this sour squeeze in his chest. Younghyun sounded like he didn't like Wonpil very much, all of a sudden. "You don't _talk_ to _me_ like that."

Younghyun's face does the thing again. "I — it's nothing to do with you. I shouldn't have said it that way."

"You're lying."

Younghyun's head jerks back, and then his brows furrow. "Wonpil-ah, don't pry."

"You were the one who pried first."

"And I've apologised!"

Stubbornly, Wonpil says, "I don't accept." He wants to know the truth.

"Well, I mean!" Younghyun throws his hands up in the air. "I can't do anything about that!"

Dowoon's following their exchange like it's a tennis match.

"Hyung ..." he says to Younghyun. Wonpil has to tamp down on the reflex to tell him not to interrupt. "We were just watching a drama? And it's fine, I don't mind it! Anyone can sit on my bed! I'm not like Sungjin-hyung!"

"Is that it?" Wonpil asks, still feeling obscurely hurt. "No one said you can't join us."

Younghyun shakes his head. "No, it's — it's fine. I'm — sorry. Again. Have fun." He retreats before Wonpil can say anything else. The smile on his face is so fake. Wonpil hates it.

"Younghyunie-hyung is an _idiot_ ," Wonpil mutters resentfully, sliding out of Dowoon's bed.

"Uh, hyung, it's okay." Dowoon tugs at his shirt. "Really, it's fine. Do you want to play FIFA?"

"No," Wonpil says, now fully intent on just sulking in his own bed. But Dowoon looks so upset that he relents and sinks back down. "Okay. Fine. Let's play."

He's mostly over it by the time he leaves Dowoon's room to get ready for bed.

Younghyun probably was in a weird mood for some reason that really had nothing to do with Wonpil. He probably has been tired or stressed or any number of things, and low on his usual patience with Wonpil's jokes. Maybe a song hasn't been working out. Wonpil understands the way the frustration of that just leaks out everywhere. There could be so many reasons. It can't actually be Wonpil.

He runs into Younghyun after washing his face and taking out his contacts. Younghyun is kind of blurry in the dim light.

"Wonpilie," he starts, sounding uncertain. Unhappy, but not upset.

"It's fine," Wonpil says quickly, trying to edge around him. His bedroom door is right over _there_. "I understand."

For one heart-stopping moment, he thinks Younghyun might just plant his giant self in the middle of the corridor.

Then Younghyun moves aside. "Ah ... do you?"

There's something strange thrumming under the blandly curious tone. Wonpil can't quite tell what it is.

"Sure," he says anyway, pauses halfway through his door. "Everyone gets stressed sometimes."

"Stressed," Younghyun repeats.

"Yes, stressed. It's okay, hyung." — The weird hurt from earlier, Wonpil compresses away to examine later. For now, he's realising that he's — "Sorry. For reacting like that. You should go to sleep earlier tonight, okay?"

Younghyun pads a little closer; Wonpil's heart beats a little harder. He's nervous, because ... because he doesn't fight with people, except he just did a few hours ago. With Younghyun, of all people. And he's not even sure what that was about.

"You weren't wrong." Younghyun's close enough now that Wonpil can see him telegraph his next move, his hand rising to ... to land in Wonpil's hair. "I'm sorry too. I'll — I'll sort myself out."

"Sleep," Wonpil says firmly. "Sleep always helps."

This time, when Younghyun laughs, he sounds normal. Wonpil relaxes.

"Yeah, okay." Younghyun's fingers slide away as he steps back. "Good night, Pilie."

Relieved, Wonpil leans briefly back against his door once he's in his room.

It's only later when all the lights are off and he's under the covers in bed that he lets the thought surface: he wishes Younghyun touched his face instead; he wishes Younghyun would just talk to him.

**5\. Younghyun**

Ever since they left Moscow, there's been a tickle in his throat and a worsening of his usual sinus-related sniffling. A general feeling of malaise that Wonpil puts down to the temperature difference between Russia and Spain, and has been frantically trying to stave off with orange juice and packed herbal tonics from home.

But by the time they arrive in Paris, he knows he's been pushing himself too hard.

Haram-noona keeps giving him beady looks — they had a disagreement about whether or not Wonpil should just order room service and rest in his hotel room earlier — and buys an entire kilogram of clementines in a net from a roadside vendor on their way back from dinner.

"I just need sleep," Wonpil insists, through a throat that feels like sandpaper.

"Hell, Wonpilie." Jae sounds alarmed. "You need a _doctor_."

Later, Wonpil will swear in the privacy of his own mind that what happened that night was because he was tripped out on the American medicine Jae-hyung carries around with him.

What happens is this:

Wonpil trips over a cobblestone mid-step as a spell of dizziness slams into him out of nowhere. It's a good thing he's been walking between Younghyun and Dowoon, because they _both_ reach out to catch him. At least one of them does.

"Noona, he's hot," he thinks he hears Younghyun say. Is he? He feels cold. The air is very cold.

"Ah, I knew we should've just forced him to stay in your room."

"Is there a pharmacy nearby?"

He's being heaved up onto someone's back. He flops, nose buried in a neck that smells comfortingly familiar.

"We'll ask the concierge."

"I have medicine, stocked up when we were in the States."

There're cold, calloused fingers on his skin. "His fever wasn't this high earlier."

"We shouldn't wait." The cadence of that voice is familiar. Sungjin-hyung? "Jae-yah, can you get your medicine?"

A burst of warm air, the clack of boot heels against stone turning into a dull, muffled thunk.

Whoever's carrying him jogs him a little. "Pilie" — ah, it's Younghyunie-hyung —"do you want medicine now? Or wait for the hotel to call a doctor?"

He doesn't want to wait, not when his head and body feel like they're aching at different frequencies, and he's sniffling hard, and his muscles are turning to jelly all over.

"Now," he mumbles, and shivers all over.

"Yeah, okay, I'll go dig it out and pass it to you." Someone pets him on the head. Jae, maybe? "Be good for Brian."

"What's he going to do? He's basically like a doll right now." Wonpil's jolted about a bit more; he slits his eyes open in time to see wallpaper turn into the wood. "Okay, Pilie, we're back. Just a bit more and then you can sleep."

Younghyun puts him down on a chair, time warps weirdly, and then he's being shepherded into the shower.

"I'm leaving the door open a bit," Younghyun tells him as the bathroom is fogging up, "just in case."

Wonpil leans his head against the glass of the shower stall and manages an, "Okay, hyung."

The hot water and steam make him feel a little better. He struggles into the bathrobe hanging from the door and wobbles back out, then abruptly runs out of energy and sits down on the edge of a bed.

"I really hope this is a short virus," Younghyun says. "Wonpilie, your _hair_ is still _wet_."

This strikes Wonpil as very funny. Younghyun sounds like his _eomma_. But he can't find the energy to laugh, and only manages to make a soft noise that goes entirely unheard under the whine of the hairdryer.

His eyes fall shut. He's lost in the red throb of his head, floating in nothingness. Then he becomes aware of a ringing silence, of being shifted about, of being tucked into bed with a hot mug of lemon and honey. It goes down hot and soothing, viscous against his throat.

"Here." Younghyun's taking the mug from him and replacing it with a tall, cool glass. Tipping a blue pill into his palm. "Jae's medicine."

Wonpil obediently tips it back, has the glass taken out of his hand and replaced by the lemon and honey again.

"Drink," Younghyun says, and then something else. Several other somethings that pass through Wonpil's ears, but his mind cannot quite catch onto them. His thoughts are splintering in a hundred directions at once. His eyes feel hot and he wants to sleep.

The murmuring nonsense is almost like a lullaby in Younghyun's low voice. Exhaustion suddenly pulls at his limbs so hard he'd have collapsed if he weren't already leaning up against pillows.

"Oh boy," Younghyun mutters, catching his mug, then easing him fully horizontal under the covers.

There's something swelling up from under Wonpil's ribs, seeping through the sour misery of illness. Younghyunie-hyung's being so nice and caring and his hand in Wonpil's hair feels so nice. When did it get there?

He hears a soft laugh from over him. Next to him. Directions are hard to keep a grasp on.

"Nyquil really does something, huh." Younghyun's fingers card through his hair again. Wonpil makes some kind of muffled noise in response. "Poor Wonpilie."

He's warm, a lovely lump of soft heat right next to Wonpil, and his voice has dipped soothingly low. Wonpil rolls over to get closer.

Their hotel room is dark, blessedly so, and if Younghyun has a light on somewhere to see by, it isn't leaking through Wonpil's firmly shut eyelids.

Before he slips into the beckoning oblivion, he tries to make his gratitude known. But the words come out only half-unstuck from his throat and he can't make words properly with his mouth; he's so tired. His limbs all feel like they weigh a tonne each; they sink leadenly into the mattress. And his head ... it isn't aching anymore, but it also feels like it'd fall off his neck if he weren't horizontal.

"Ah, calm down, Pilie, it's just the medicine making you sleepy." The mattress shifts about a bit, dips and rises unexpectedly. Suddenly, Younghyun's voice sounds a lot closer. "Hey, just let go."

Wonpil's native stubbornness helps him lift his thousand-weight lashes.

Their faces are so close. The warm glow from the dim nightlight Younghyun has on next to _his_ bed is reflected in his eyes.

"Jus' wan' say ...' Wonpil sighs, and blinks stickily as he struggles to keep his eyes open. "Thank...hyung."

"Always, Pilie." Younghyun's smile is soft and sweet. Even in the dark, Wonpil can see it. Maybe because he's memorised all the smiles that he's received and can pattern the vague hint of this one after those that came before.

Wonpil falls forward, it feels like. He wants to kiss Younghyun, and there doesn't seem to be a good reason not to like this, so close together and in the warm dark like a dream. And if this _is_ a dream, then nothing really matters. His lips land on stubble-rough skin.

"What—" is all he hears before the darkness swims up, and all is nothing.

**+1**

Wonpil's all better now, but Younghyun-hyung is still treating him like he has the plague. It's not even like Younghyun caught whatever it was Wonpil had, even though they shared a room.

It's not super obvious, but it's ... he scowls across the narrow aisle in this terrible European short-haul aeroplane.

He remembers hyung making him tea while Wonpil was in the shower, giving him medicine, and then putting him to bed. That was the last time he paid Wonpil any attention. Off-stage, anyway.

"Why are you looking at Younghyunie-hyung like that?" Dowoon whispers. "Did you fight? How did you have energy to fight?"

"I don't know. We didn't."

Dowoon frowns. "Maybe he thought it was a fight but you didn't?"

"I think he just doesn't want to get sick."

"But you're not contagious anymore?"

"Ah!!" Wonpil shakes his earphones out vigorously. "I don't know!"

His voice raised enough that Younghyun's looking across the aisle at him, eyebrow cocked. Next to him, Jae-hyung's already plugged into his game.

 _Now you look at me?_ Wonpil imagines saying to him.

He jams the buds into his ears instead.

Younghyun should talk first, especially when it's _his_ fault Wonpil's feeling out of sorts and rubbed raw. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Dowoon shoot Younghyun a helpless look. He's got half a mind to make Dowoon change seats with him, so he gets the window.

The flight passes quickly enough. Wonpil finishes listening to two instrumental albums he downloaded before the flight: atmospheric, heavily textured stuff undergirded by a resonant, throbbing beat. It doesn't make his bad mood dissipate, but helps to channel it a little into fantasies of riding out on some sort of quest. Like one of the _chakho_ of old, maybe.

Dowoon edges out of their seats behind him before Younghyun and Jae get out of theirs, like some kind of barrier. Not like it's necessary, since Younghyun _isn't really talking to him_. What irritates him the most, Wonpil decides, is that this is very much not the modus operandi for their team. And he doesn't understand why nobody else has made Younghyun sit down and spit it out yet.

He refuses to consider the possibility that someone might have and concluded that the current state of affairs is the best solution.

Forty-five minutes later, he is seriously considering the possibility that someone might have thought assigning them to the same hotel room would be the best solution. Wonpil _is_ going to make Younghyun talk, but he'd rather do it on his own terms.

Wonpil tries to make it very clear with his face that he is deeply unhappy about this.

"Dowoonie," he says, nudging Dowoon's luggage case with his toe. "Yah, Dowoon-ah."

Dowoon looks up from the game he's been playing on his phone. "Mwuh?"

"Switch rooms with me?" He sniffles a little harder than he absolutely needs to. Coughs a bit into the crook of his elbow when the sniffing itches at his throat too much.

Dowoon looks unimpressed.

"Please?" Wonpil tries. "Do it for your favourite hyung?"

"No." Dowoon's jaw sets in that particularly stubborn way. "You're not going to get anyone sick and hyung doesn't even need the privacy for studying anymore."

"Yah! I meant _me_!"

They both fall silent when they spot Jangkyu-hyung coming back over with their passports.

"Is there a problem?"

"No, no," Wonpil and Dowoon chorus as they tuck the passports that Jangkyu-hyung passes them back into their bags.

"Good," says Jangkyu-hyung. "Wonpil-ah, you shouldn't be talking so much."

"I'm a lot better now," Wonpil mutters, even though Jangkyu-hyung is already walking off to collect everyone else on the way to the lifts. He morosely follows along with Dowoon, the wheels on his luggage case clacking against the grooves in the tiled reception floor.

Each uncomfortable jolt seems to mirror the way he feels on the inside; he _hates_ feeling uncomfortable, especially when it's so unexpected, so unprecedented, so ... so unexplained.

Younghyun's holding their key cards when they arrive at the lift lobby, and he passes one over to Wonpil without talking. Wonpil forgets, sometimes, how cold he looks when he isn't smiling. Maybe Wonpil _should_ apologise, even though he doesn't know what for. It's entirely possible he did something terrible whilst ill. But he was feverish. Whatever he did can't be held against him!

In the lift up to their floor, Younghyun's quiet next to Wonpil, in the way it goes quiet before there's a thunderstorm. Wonpil fidgets nervously and wonders if Jae wouldn't mind switching with him. He sleep-talks! Sungjin-hyung can't sleep very deeply! It would all work out so well, and Younghyun hyung (a) is used to it, supposedly; (b) would deserve it anyway, for being weird and mean.

The lift doors open while Wonpil is still gathering his thoughts.

"Okaaaaaaaaay." Jae drags both his words and a bemused Sungjin out with him, scuppering Wonpil's plans. "Bob and I are gonna go live our best lives, have fun kids!"

"Don't forget sound check is early tomorrow morning," Sungjin says as he lets himself be hustled along.

Then Jae hisses something in English to Younghyun as the hyungs pass by, which (a) is just cheating; (b) reinforces Wonpil's theory that this was all a set up. It itches.

They get into their room and unpack in absolute silence. They take turns in the shower. Wonpil can't help but feel on edge the whole time, because every time Younghyun's gaze so much as _grazes_ across his skin, it's weighted with consideration.

Between putting his pyjamas on and vigorously blowing his hair dry, he comes to a resolution.

Never mind Younghyun being all avoidant, Wonpil is going to make him talk or else. Or else he might start crying.

He billows back out into their hotel room in a cloud of steam. _Okay hyung just tell me what your problem is_ ready to go on his tongue.

But the steam is lost, both metaphorically and literally, because Younghyun's in his pyjama pants and the hotel robe, slouched low in the reading chair next to the window with his laptop, looking rumpled and soft. Vulnerable. Like the same hyung who'd apparently made sure he didn't die in his sleep, two nights ago.

Younghyun doesn't so much as look up at Wonpil when Wonpil crosses the room to his bed and rips back the top cover. Whatever. He'll just let the antihistamines he took when Younghyun was in the shower knock him out, go to sleep early, and soldier on through tomorrow night's gig.

He's finished folding the weird glossy embroidered cover onto the foot of the bed and is engaged in wrestling the tightly tucked blankets loose, when he hears his name. Hesitant and low and _very deservedly guilty_.

"Wonpilie..." Younghyun says again.

Suddenly, Wonpil recalls their encounter outside the bathroom back home, before this leg of the tour. Now though, Wonpil can't think of anything to rationalise Younghyun's weird behaviour away.

He pauses. Unleashes the spite that's been building in his belly. "Oh, you've decided to stop ignoring me?"

There's palpable startlement in the air in the pause that follows. Then a low, chagrined huff. "Okay, I deserve that."

"Yes." Wonpil keeps his back turned away. "So what are you going to do about it?"

There's flash of movement in the dark glass of the hotel windows, and then — his body locks up in surprise all over.

There are arms around his waist; Younghyun is one solid swathe of heat against his back. Younghyun smells like the apples of his body wash. His breath is on Wonpil's ear and it is — Wonpil's never felt so much like the bunny the fans like to compare him to. He has no idea what is happening, no idea what to do. His heart is beating in his ears.

"Hyung?"

"I'm sorry," Younghyun murmurs. "I'm sorry I've been avoiding you; I know I'm an idiot; but I just —" His grip loosens a little and Wonpil has to bite down on the protest. "Okay. I'm going to — feel free to punch me if you don't —"

"What?" Wonpil half turns, confused and wracked with the terrifying ordeal of sudden hope. "Hyung, what are you —"

He loses his words for the _second_ time that night when Younghyun ducks down and kisses him on the nape of his neck. It is literally arresting — Wonpil freezes mid-turn, at Younghyun's chapped lips and warm breath against the uppermost knob of his backbone.

"What," he manages in a rough, breathy murmur. Words tumble out after, the way they do whenever Wonpil's flustered. "What ... is happening? Is this a joke? Why are you acting like you're in a drama? I don't —"

Younghyun's lips leave his skin then. He gets turned around; spun, really.

Unfortunately his sense of balance in his recovery is not the best.

"Eurk," Wonpil says, and pitches forward into Younghyun's chest. Younghyun, he thinks giddily, really is very warm. And comfortable to lean against. And, oh, be held by.

"Are you going to vomit on me?" Younghyun sounds mildly concerned. Not nearly concerned enough about having someone's sick on him, if you ask Wonpil.

"You'd deserve it if I did."

Now Younghyun's really hugging him. Wonpil decides to be selfish and let it happen. "I'm sorry. I know. I can explain. I just — do you remember anything, from Paris?"

"Oh ..." Wonpil frowns and shifts a little, turning his head to one side. So he did do something. "No. I remember taking the medicine from Jae-hyung and then ... I fell asleep?"

Younghyun's arms around him tighten, and then loosen. "That's all you remember?"

"Yes, then I woke up and you were treating me coldly." Wonpil paused. "And now you're hugging me. And you — you. Um. My neck."

There's a low, unvoiced vibration against Wonpil's cheek that he just _knows_ is muffled laughter. "I — yes, I _um'_ d your neck. Because you ..."

"What, hyung?"

" _You_ kissed _me_."

Wonpil jerks back, reeling a little with the motion and sitting abruptly down on his bed. "I _WHAT_???"

"Shhhh, shhhh." Younghyun glances around their hotel room wildly. Oh, right, Sungjin-hyung is in the room right next to theirs.

"I didn't!"

"You absolutely did." Younghyun's smile is indulgent, his dimples appearing. "Well, kind of. You missed a bit" — Younghyun taps his cheek — "But I. It was cute."

Wonpil shrieks into his hands. He can feel his _ears_ blushing.

Younghyun starts laughing and peels his hands away. "Did you hear me? I said it was cute. But I didn't realise ... you, um, wanted to kiss me that way. Before. And it made me ... I didn't know how to react, especially because — well. I just didn't know."

"What other way," Wonpil demands stridently, "would I want to kiss you?"

"It's just, you've never —"

" — because then it'd mean a thing!!!" The confession bursts out of Wonpil without his permission.

Younghyun sobers up.

"Me too." He sinks to his knees before Wonpil, curls their fingers together. "Me too, Wonpilie."

Well, all the back-hugging and neck-kissing like Younghyun thought he was Lee Minho or something did give him a clue. Sort of. Maybe if Wonpil were operating at full capacity he would be less befuddled.

As it is, he just gapes. Why did he not see this before?

"Okay." Wonpil stares at their clasped fingers and the absent stroke of Younghyun's thumb against the side of his palm. Looks shyly through his bangs at Younghyun. "Um. What now?"

"Now?" Mischief streaks across Younghyun's face. It settles into a headily intent look as he rises and leans in.

"Wait!" Wonpil pushes a hand against his chest. "I might still be contagious."

"We literally shared a room when you were _peak_ contagious, Wonpilie."

"You're going backpacking soon!"

Younghyun gives him a look, and disentangles a hand to pull Wonpil close by the waist.

The first kiss is light as a butterfly, like Younghyun's giving him a warning, or a chance to run away.

The second, Wonpil steals instead, wrapping his arms around Younghyun's neck and burying his hands in his hair.

Any thought of counting after that is soon lost to deep drugging kisses that have him gasping, light-headed in a way that thrums all the way through him.

"Okay, okay." Wonpil leans back for oxygen and pats Younghyun's shoulders distractedly, trying to ground himself. "I get it, I get it."

"Are you sure?" Younghyun's eyes are crinkled mock-seriously. "Repetition _is_ reinforcement."

"That doesn't work for lyrics."

Younghyun laughs, and tumbles him flat onto the bed.

"Today has ended strangely," he muses a while later, as Younghyun presses light, toothless kisses to his neck.

"Mmm?"

"I was so upset with you. And now —"

"Now I'm making up for it." Younghyun sneaks a hand up Wonpil's t-shirt to palm his side; Wonpil shivers, and lets him continue his penance.

"Wait." Wonpil sits up after an ardent interlude, pausing mid-ministration and ignoring both the bulge nudging against him and Younghyun's groan. "Wait, is _this_ why you were so weird that night with Dowoonie? Before the tour?"

"What?" Younghyun sounds bewildered and hazy; Wonpil preens a little. "The — oh. I — yeah."

"You were _jealous_ ," Wonpil declares, delighted.

Younghyun slides his hands from Wonpil's ass along either side of his spine, large and warm, up to the space between Wonpil's shoulder blades, pulls Wonpil in. "I was," he admits freely between more kisses as he skates his hands back down. "And stupid."

"I don't mind," Wonpil tells him. "Now that I know, I mean."

He laughs when Younghyun rolls them over.

"You like it?" Younghyun asks, eyes gleaming.

Beaming up at him, Wonpil says, "I _guess_."

Then he yawns hugely, his antihistamines finally breaking throught the happy high.

"Ah ..." Younghyun's hands retreat to more sleep-friendly regions as he sighs. "Bedtime, I guess."

"No," Wonpil whines. "Kisses."

"More?" Younghyun laughs quietly and reaches over to — oh, he's turning off the lights. What a clever hyung. The room, plunged into dark, seems small and close, especially when Younghyun returns to blanket him.

"More. You'll be gone for _ever_."

He can't see anything, but Younghyun noses at his cheek, obligingly trails kisses to the sensitive hollow behind Wonpil's ear. "I know, I'm sorry."

Wonpil turns his face to try and catch Younghyun's lips; his mouth lands on what must be cheekbone instead. "Come back quickly. Don't get lost. Or robbed. Or —"

"I'm not going _yet_."

Wonpil kicks him under the sheets.

"Ow! Hey!"

"I'll say it again tomorrow night. On the next morning." Wonpil kisses the soft, shaven skin of Younghyun's cheek; punctuation marks. "In Katalk."

"Mmm." More of those faint vibrations. Younghyun laughing low in his chest. Wonpil snuggles closer to feel it. "Repetition, reinforcement?"

Yawning again, Wonpil slides down low, so he can rest his forehead against Younghyun's terrifically comfortable sternum. "Yu-u-up. That."

There's a soft laugh, soft pressure on the crown of his head. All is soft, warm, weighted; the low thrum of arousal is fuzzing into intimate comfort.

"Sleep, Pilie," Younghyun murmurs, warm like amber honey. "I'll still be here tomorrow morning."

"Mmm," Wonpil burrs against his skin, and does.

*********

**Author's Note:**

> yeah ok i was like 89.67% dialling it in for this one and then it developed like an emotional arc and an acid tang of pining so I had to be like oh, not just jokes time anymore? fuck.
> 
> The Unrest Cure is a reference to [a short story](http://www.eastoftheweb.com/short-stories/UBooks/UnrCur.shtml) by Saki, whose wicked wit I adore. 
> 
> but I HOPE YOU ENJOYED IT ANYWAY! if you did, please smash that kudos button; leave a comment (Feed Me, Seymour); and [retweet](https://twitter.com/forochel/status/1300228306114162690)!


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